Hidden Truths
by gingerlizard91
Summary: [MacStella] Stella comes to Mac's aid when he's attacked after a date with Jane Parsons. But will secrets within the crime lab expose a much deeper reality to the attack? Chapter 4 is up!
1. Default Chapter

A/N: First of all, I'd like to point out that my Microsoft Word has vanished without a trace from my computer, so if there are any spelling errors at all in here, I apologize for them. Secondly, of course, these charcters aren't mine. Big surprise there. Thirdly...I don't have any rights to the movie _Forrest Gump_. It's kinda interesting, though...Gary Sinise plays Mac on CSI: NY, and Mac's last name is Taylor, just like Lieutenant Dan's last name in _Forrest Gump_, also portrayed by Gary Sinise, and then there's another Danny Taylor on Without A Trace, which I still don't own, and I believe one episode had a character named Mac... Whatcha staring at me for? G>

* * *

It was a beautiful night in New York City. The stars glimmered brightly, as if they were transferring their heavenly light to the city and making it shine like the jewel it was. The waves of New York Harbor lapped peacefully onto both the shores of New York and its neighboring state, New Jersey. The Statue Of Liberty, graceful withall its mysterious beauty, watched over as the night life of the city flourished. It was such a wonderfultime to live in the city that never sleeps... 

Yeah, that's probably the way you'd like a story to begin. A sugar-coated description of how the world is moving about its business. No evil, no violence, nothing criminal to worry about. Don't we all wish that's how the world could be?

Unfortunately, this isn't the real beginning of this story. The _real_ beginning might be much more serious than your liking.

* * *

"Knock, knock." 

"Come in, Danny."

Danny Messer, eyes alarming bright tonight, greeted Stella with the one question she'd been asked all shift.

"What are you doing in Mac's office?"

Stella groaned and banged her head onto Mac's desk numerous times.

"Sorry," Danny said, noting Stella's discomfort. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked."

"He has the night off," Stella explained, rubbing the throbbing forehead that had just come in contact with the rusting metal.

"Why are you -- ?"

"He asked me to fill his position -- just for tonight. He didn't tell me where he was going or why."

Danny shrugged. "Good enough for me. Maybe having Mac out for once will take a good load off all our shoulders."

Stella smiled. "I'll tell him you said that."

He pointed an accusing finger at her. "You'd better not."

"Do a good job on your case and this conversation won't have even happened."

He was halfway out the door. "Ooh, black-mailer, are you?"

"I try," she said.

After he had left, Stella actually took deep thought to Danny's words for once. Mac was always bearing down on his CSIs. She knew it, being the one he was around the most. Plus, the atmosphere had lightened without him. _I guess it's true_, she thought, _but it's not like we'd be better off without him._

_We _would_ be better off without Jane Parsons, _Stella continued to think. _I wonder why she's out sick today, too. _

Little did Stella know that her questions were to soon be answered. Right...about...

Her cellphone chirped. She had set it down somewhere on Mac's desk, but what with all the clutter that had already been there, she couldn't exactly reach for it and instantly pick it up. A few seconds went by with Stella shoving papers aside, but her search was so far fruitless. She became a bit restless and started throwing papers off the desk, not caring where they landed. _Mac, you really need to get more organized._

When her hand finally closed on the device, she flipped it open and put it to her ear.

"Bonasera."

"Oh, thank God, Stella. I didn't know if you were gonna pick up."

Stella recognized the heavy accent right away.

"What's up, Flack?"

Flack's words were speedy, with an urgency she'd never heard in him. "Stella, you've got to get to New York Downtown Hospital ASAP. We've got a _huge_ problem."

"How huge?"

"Gigantic. Mac's been hurt."

Once he spoke those words, Stella felt as though her stomach had dropped out. Her jaw fell open, and her round eyes widened even more as they darted around the room. She went silent.

"Stella? Stella!"

Stella shook her head and came to her senses. "Say no more. I'm on my way."

"Stella, he's been -- !"

She hung up. Flack's last word was drowned out by the click of her finger on the END button.

Grabbing her coat draped neatly over a plush chair, Stella ran out the door.

* * *

New York Downtown Hospital was buzzing with the attack of the CSI. Almost every person Stella passed on the third floor was talking about it. 

"How's that cop doing?" one nurse said.

_He's not a cop, he's a CSI_, Stella thought, but she didn't bother to listen to the rest. She was going straight to the source.

The reception desk sat practically invisible in one corner of the floor. There, a young woman with auburn hair and piercing green eyes sat, flipping through files with her back to the passing traffic. Stella raced to thedesk and slapped the counter to stop herself. This sudden noise startled the receptionist and caused her turn and face Stella.

"May I help you?" she said, bright and cheery as if she didn't know what was going on.

"I need to know what room Mac Taylor is in. It's an emergency."

The receptionist spun on the swivel chair to a computer.

"What was the last name again?"

"Taylor. Like the lieutenant's last name in _Forrest Gump_."

The redhead typed quickly, and the screen instantly beeped.

"He's in room 7A. There's no word yet on his vitals. Doctors are examin..."

But Stella was already halfway down the hall.

Slowing to a stop outside of 7A, Stella drew her I.D. and cautiously knocked on the room.

_Oh, screw it._

She walked in. There were three people aleady there, not counting Mac. Stella didn't dare herself to look at him yet, afraid of what she might see. Instead, Stella looked to a man whom she assumed to be the doctor, an aging nurse in teal scrubs, and a blonde woman sitting inthe corner. Stella couldn't see her face at first.

Apparently, though, the blonde could see Stella.

"Stella? Is that you?"

The accent was British. Stella recognized just as quickly as she'd recgnized Flack's over the phone.

"Jane Parsons?"

The woman sat up and came into the flourescent light, and it was indeed Jane. The DNA lab tech's face was reddened and blotchy, and her bloodshot eyes were enough to tell Stella that she had been crying.

What Stella wanted to know, however, was why she was here...more importantly, why she was here in a far-from-casual sequined dress.

"Jane, what happened?" Stella asked, walking over to Jane.The doctor looked at her questioningly, but Stella simply held up her I.D. and said, "Detective Stella Bonasera, from the crime lab."

"W-We were out to dinner," Jane said, her voice wavering.

That familiar pang of jealously spread through Stella before she could stop it. She didn't have any time to mask it, however, because Jane kept going.

"He took me out to d-dinner, just a c-couple blocks from m-my apartment. We p-passed an alley and someone...someone d-draggd him in. I h-heard a gunshot. T-They ran off before I could g-get their faces."

Jane obviously looked shaken, so Stella turned instead to the doctor for questions.

"You're his doctor?"

"Yes. Dr. Cunningham."

"Is he stable?"

" 'Fraid not," he replied with a northern New Jersey accent. He montioned for her to join him on the other side of Mac's bed, where he pointed to her fallen colleauge's abdomen. "Take a look."

Stella took a look, alright; just not at the wound. She finally saw Mac, and regretting looking. His face had been beaten to a bloody pulp. She could see through the layers of bandage the blood that was continuing to flow, trying to dry and begin Mac's healing process. His breathing was labored, even with the oxygen mask over his mouth. He was a mess.

After a prolonged look at his face, Stella's eyes moved down to whereDr. Cunninghamhad been holding his finger for more than a few seconds. "Ms. Bonasera, your colleague has been shot, and the offending bullet has been lodged somewhere dangerously close to his lungs and heart. We're going to hold back surgery until it's traveled to an area with less consequences when removed."

The news hit Stella with less shock than she'd imagined. She emitted a quiet "Okay".

"Would you like to...be alone with him?" the doctor asked.

Stella looked to Jane, who said, "They've already given me my time. It's only fair."

Stella looked back to Doc and nodded. "Yes, I'd appreciate that very much..."

Within seconds, the room had been vacated. Jane seemed a little reluctant to leave, as she eyed Mac with a longing look. Stella saw this and took note of it.

OnceJane had left, Stella took a lone chair and pulled it to Mac's side, the side minus the gunshot wound, trying to ignore the horrid screeching noise it made being dragged over the tiled floor. She sat and went into a daze.

The first thing she did was hold his hand. It was dirty and bloody and smelled of sweat, but she couldn't have cared less. She stroked his skin with her thumb and for some reason could not take her eyes off his hand.

Being as careful as possible, Stella laid her head on the side of his abdomen, looking up at his face.

"Mac, please come back," she whispered. "Please come back. I need you."

Her eyelids drooped and finally closed, and right there in the hospital room...Stella Bonasera prayed.

* * *

She didn't know how it had happened, but Stella had fallen asleep. She'd fallen asleep praying for him, for his security and for him to awaken. All she wished for now was to see his smiling face. 

It was just then that Stella realized she'd been awoken by a hand slowing caressing the base of her skull. She looked up. She stared. She gasped.

"Hey there."

Mac was up.

"Oh, my God, you're awake," Stella breathed.

"Of course..." he groaned, straining to push himself up. "Not gonna let...a bullet...stop me."

Stella lightly pushed him back down. "For now, you actually do have to stop. We can't risk any other complications. I'm going to get the doctor."

"No!" he said, voice raspy, grabbing her arm. "I don't want them...pampering me."

"Mac, you need -- !

"No, Stella, please...just wait."

"Fine. If you start convulsing, don't ask me to help."

"C'mere." He beckoned for her to come closer to his face. She did. His hand regained its spot around the back of her neck, and he pulled her into his bandaged neck, planting an affectionate kiss in her hair.

"I thought I'd never hear your scolding me again."

She forced a laugh, despite the awkward position they were in.

An uneasy silence passed between them.

Finally: "Mac, I promise I'll get this guy."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Oh, look who's scolding now!"

He laughed and coughed furiously.

"Mac," Stella repeated, staring straight into his eyes, "I promise you...I will find out who did this."

"I trust you more than anyone."

As Mac and Stella shared their sweet moments together, they failed to notice Dr. Cunningham moving silently, almost sinisterly, down the hallway out side the room. He had a call to make.

TBC...::cue suspenseful music::


	2. Stirring Of Sensations

Winter wasn't usually too much of a problem in New York City. Just bundling up, doing a little sidewalk shoveling and brushing off your car was about it as the snowplows did the work on the streets. Business as usual, but when Stella finally left the hospital on Sunday to let Mac go into surgery, it hit her.

Hell, this was one doozy of a storm.

Finding her car on the parking complex, Stella drove home to find Rupert Mulligan, her neighbor who had just moved here from England, out shoveling the nine or so inches of powder on the sidewalk away. He greeted her with a smile, and she returned it. Stella just went inside, but after peering out the window numerous times and seeing Rupert all by his lonesome in the cold, she felt guilty and pulled on her snow boots.

"Thought you could use a little assistance," Stella grinned when she got outside.

"Thanks, it's really appreciated," Rupert replied, grunting after every shovel of snow.

"When the hell did this get here?" Stella said.

"Last night. Where have you been?"

"At the hospital."

"Why?" he panted. "Interrogating a victim or something?"

"I guess you could say that," she said quietly.

Rupert stopped and propped his arm up on his shovel. "And how goes the CSI business?"

Stella stopped as well, muttering loud enough for Rupert to hear her, "…My colleague was shot."

Rupert looked genuinely saddened for Stella. "Oh, that's terrible. Is he alright?"

"I left when they took him into surgery, and before then we had been talking, so I guess you could say he's fine."

"Goodness, Stella, I'm sorry," he said remorsefully.

She forced a smile. "It's Mac. He bounce right back."

Rupert picked up his shovel and continued. "You're a poet and don't even know it."

"Lots of words rhyme with his name. Of course I know I'm a poet."

The two shared a few laughs, and then went onward down the sidewalk that hadn't been cleared yet. As she plowed through, Stella thought of Mac, probably under deep sleep somewhere in a cold operating room by now, not helping her in place of Rupert as he had done so many countless years before. What a depressing thought.

* * *

"Cunningham said full recovery, and I tend to believe him." 

"Oh, thank God."

After a few hours of being knee-deep in snow, Stella returned to the hospital to find Mac wide awake and raring to tell her the good news.

"They're actually releasing me today.

Stella froze for a moment. "You're going…to _your_ home?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "Something wrong with that?"

She rubbed the back of her head nervously, saying, "I dunno, Mac, if there's someone after you, it's not such a good idea to go to your own home, is it? You never know."

He folded his hands on his chest. "Then where should I go?"

Stella shrugged. "I've got room at my place. You could bunk there until this whole thing is cleared over."

"You sure I'm not kicking you out of your home?"

"Positive. I haven't had company in so long."

He looked away, down at the radiator and the rusting chair, then back at her, saying, "Thanks."

She patted him on the hand gently and replied, "My pleasure."

* * *

"Damn…door!" 

The door in question finally gave way after minutes of yanking.

"Make yourself at home," Stella panted.

Like a crippled puppy, Mac limped after Stella and into the familiar setting of a New York City apartment. With relief flowing through his veins, Mac spied Stella's couch and ambled over to it, lying down and breathing a tremendous sigh.

"Ah, sweet relaxation."

Stella's amusement became known from the kitchen, within sight of the living room. A loud clank of metal startled Mac, but when but when Stella eased him by explaining a dropped frying pan, he leaned back again, willing himself to not concentrate on the rest of the world.

It didn't last long.

"You want something to eat?" Stella yelled. "I'll cook whatever you want."

He wheezed a little and called back, "A glass of water would be fine, thanks."

"I see. You just want to sleep, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

A minute later, Stella set the large glass of crystal-clear spring water ("Never trust the tap water, especially in this city.") on the coffee table in front of him. He seized it and gulped its contents down rapidly.

"Jeez, you really were thirsty."

"Damn straight," he muttered irritably.

Stella chuckled. "Just give me a yell if you need anything." She checked her watch and added, "I'll wake you up in a few hours for your medication, okay?"

He grumbled his response.

* * *

Half an hour later, Mac was out cold and snoring like a bear. Every time Stella passed him, she had to plug her ears and stifle a laughing fit. She couldn't have asked for anything more than good laugh after so much seriousness in the past few days. 

Curiosity was slowly getting the better of Stella. Her investigative mind longed the wound in Mac's abdomen.

Of course, she did.

Kneeling on the rug beside the couch, Stella steadily lifted the bottom of Mac's T-shirt up just enough to reveal the bandage over the bullet orifice. She held her breath as she carefully peeled the gauze back, eyes darting to Mac's face every few seconds to make sure he wasn't waking up.

The skin around the entrance wound was turning a deep shade of purple, but the wound itself looked absolutely horrifying. It seemed as though someone had taken a tiny corkscrew and plunged it into him. She had only seen this a few times in her entire career.

"Damn. That was one bad-ass bullet," Stella mumbled with a grin.

Mac stirred and shifted away, and Stella froze. He groaned softly, and she heard him say something in audible. She moved a little closer, hoping to hear it again.

"Stella…Stel…"

She raised an eyebrow. Was he awake?

"Stella…no, get away from her, you…"

_Is he dreaming…about me?_ Stella thought.

"Stel…you okay…?"

Stella quickly covered the wound back up and pulled Mac's shirt down.

"Please…tell me you're alright…"

She couldn't help it. "I'm fine, Mac. Thanks for asking." She imagined a young Mac Taylor lying in bed with the covers kicked off yelling for his mother in his dream, and the image brought an ear-to-ear grin to her face.

* * *

"Stella? Stel?" 

Mac awoke to a seemingly empty apartment after his restful nap. The air was still, the taxis beeped their loud, annoying horns down below on the crowded street – and Stella was nowhere in sight.

"Hey, Bonasera, you alive?"

"I'm in here!"

He followed her voice down a sunlit hallway and into a luxurious bedroom. Stella was perched on the foot of the bed, Indian-style, wearing ripped jeans and a blood-red shirt. She was flipping through channels on a small television.

"You have a giant plasma flat-screen T.V. in your living room and a miniscule old Sony model that could be the flat screen's Mini Me in here. Do I sense some issues…?"

"It was an impulse, Mac. Get over it," she scoffed jokingly.

He inched into the room. "You changed."

She didn't pull her eyes from the screen. "Glad you're observant."

Eventually, he came to sit next to her. The bed dipped with his weight, which Stella curtly remarked about, causing Mac to roll his eyes.

"Put on the news, will you, Stella?"

"What channel would you like, your Majesty?"

"Channel 7 if you please, my servant."

Stella smiled smugly and flipped the channel just as a news report was coming on. After only listening for a second, both Mac and Stella's eyes widened at what the reporter was saying.

_"Our sources tell us that Detective Mac Taylor was out for the evening when he was pulled into and alley and shot once in the abdomen…"_

Stella pointed a finger at the screen. "That _wasn't_ supposed to get out. _Not at all_."

The reporter wasn't finished. _"The detective was released from the hospital just today to stay with a close. The attacker has not yet been…"_

"No, damn it!" Stella exclaimed. She flew to her feet, fists clenched so hard her wrists were turning white. She spun around and faced Mac. "Someone wants you _dead_, and they just gave that son of a bitch a full confirmation that you're still alive. If they know you well enough to follow you on a date, then they probably know who you would turn to if something like this happened!"

He stood, matching her height, and eased, "Calm down – you're way out of control."

Her arms flailed in rage. "Mac, you're in danger!"

Mac placed his hands on her elbows and pulled them back down. "Yes, and that's part of the reason why yelling frantically and drawing attention to yourself isn't the best way to solve the problem."

Stella stood tense for a moment longer, but finally relaxed. "I'm sorry. I'm just…_really_ stressed about everything." She walked away from his grasp and put a hand to her forehead. "I just…I don't want to see you hurt. I care about you, Mac."

The words escaped her lips before she even had a mind to stop them.

He cocked his head. "You…you do?" He sounded like an awkward teenager who just found out his crush returned his affections.

Stella tried to redeem herself; she hadn't realized how easily the words could come out of her mouth. "Of course I do. I'm your friend – I'm always looking out for you."

Had he thought she meant something different?

More importantly…what did _she_ mean?


	3. Deep Deception

A/N: This was probably the first time I had to REALLY do some research for a fic. If you happen to come upon this and are taking up a career as a doctor, I'm sorry if there are any mistakes on the medication dosage and effects and whatnot. I'm just a simple 'shipper, hoping to finally update her main WIP...

* * *

Food had a remarkable way of disappearing from Stella's refrigerator. It was because of this that she had to take a walk down the street a few bocks to restock her food supply. Unfortunately, that meant leaving Mac alone – something she was reluctant to do. 

"Stella, you'll be no longer than half an hour," Mac insisted. "I'll be fine."

"Okay…" She still sounded unsure, but she complied anyway. "Call my cell if anything happens. I'll have it turned on."

She turned to the door and stopped momentarily when Mac said, "Yes, mother dearest."

Playing along, she countered, "Now, you take your medicine like a good little boy. We can't have you lying unconscious on the floor when I get back."

"Will you go already?"

Casting him one more smile, Stella stepped over the threshold and into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

* * *

Half an hour later, just as Mac had perceived… Stella's own words came back to bite her in the ass. She came home to an unconscious Mac lying spread-eagle on her ceramic kitchen tile. 

Everything after that discovery passed in a blur…

"_What is your emergency?" _

"_My friend is lying on the floor; he's out cold…" _

It was hard to keep a steady voice.

"_Miss, please step away!" _

"_Get some oxygen in him, now!" _

The EMTs carried him out on a stretcher. She didn't follow. What she did was lean against the counter, her words echoing with quiet rage.

"_I'll catch you, you bastard."

* * *

_

The interrogation room door swung open and shut in one motion, allowing enough time for one certain CSI though.

"Okay. I want a who and a why, and I want them now."

Across from a very pissed off Stella sat Dr. Peter Cunningham, eyes bloodshot and hands shaky.

"What? I don't even know why the hell I'm here!"

Through clenched teeth, Stella barked, "Mac Taylor is back at New York Downtown Hospital tonight because his prescription medication, the medication _you_ gave him, was filled to the brim with Tri-Barbs. For Mac, one of those pills could have caused severe nervous system failure. Of all the people in the world, I'd expect you to know that, having access to his medical files and being able to note that it isn't used for pain medication and _he's allergic to it_."

Cunningham looked mostly confused, but his eyes suggested otherwise. "Ms. Bonasera, I…"

"Have an explanation? Wonderful! Let's hear it."

Cunningham was shaking head to toe now. Stella tapped her fingers impatiently on the table. The clock ticked. Footfalls echoed from the hallway.

"Listen," Stella said, "I don't like having my time wasted. You probably don't either. You can sit there like a church mouse and not cooperate with us, but that mean's you'll be taking a walk and put in a little cell where we'll hold you until you _do_ tell us something. It's your choice, Doc."

"Okay, okay!" Cunningham blurted. "I personally filled the bottle because Taylor was still alive, but I didn't originally want him dead! I'm only a pawn in this whole thing, I swear!"

It was this moment that Flack chose to step in. He held a piece of paper folded in thirds and handed it to Stella. She opened it, scanned it, and smiled. Then she pushed it in front of Cunningham. "This is a warrant to search you home. Funny…I didn't think a doctor of your status would have so many complaints on your record." Stella got up and walked around in back on Cunningham and whispered in his ear, "Is there anything else you'd like to share? Trust me, you'll be worse off if you don't."

Cunningham sat blank faced a second and not even turning his head, he growled, "I won't expose my friend. That's not the kind of person I am."

Flack swore he saw her nostrils flare, a rare sight.

"Take him to lock-up," Stella said sharply to the officer at the door.

The officer revealed a pair of handcuffs and approached Cunningham. Meanwhile, Stella treaded out the door, Flack following close behind her.

"We'll find out who's behind this, Stel," Flack said as they went down the passage.

"_This_ is the kind of thing that _really_ gets me off. The arrogant assholes who like to think the know everything."

"Stella," Flack said in a low voice, stopping her, "is there any chance you want to solve this case – not for Mac – but for yourself?"

Stella froze mid-step. "I _swore_ to Mac I would find who did this to him. My own validations and feelings do _not_ enter into it."

Flack eyed her. "Well, it's looking to me like you want to lead this one to impress Mac. Like you haven't already impacted him a lot…"

If looks could kill, Flack would have been dead and buried by then. Thank God that at that very moment, Stella's cellphone rang. She glared at Flack one last time and then opened the phone and walked in the opposite direction down the hall.

"Bonasera."

"This is _Stella_ Bonasera, correct?"

Stella knew the voice. It was the receptionist from New York Downtown Hospital. "Yes, that's me. Do you know the condition of my colleague?"

"Yes, Ms. Bonasera. Mr. Taylor is fine and ready to be released…again."

"Can you please see to it that his medication is checked thoroughly?"

"Of course. I'll get right on it."

Stella's eyes lit up. "Thank you. I'll be right over."

* * *

"We've got to stop making these trips," Stella joked in the car later on, Mac sitting next to her. 

"I must be pretty popular around here."

They reached a stoplight and the car came to a halt.

"Hey, listen," Stella grabbed his attention again, "I have to get back to the lab ASAP, so when we get home, I'll walk you up and then I have to leave, okay?"

Mac nodded a little too solemnly.

Stella observed him carefully. She couldn't even hope to imagine what he was going through emotionally. Of course, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been in and out of the hospital so much. The pain must be killing him.

"You okay?" Stella asked timidly.

He nodded again, not saying anything.

Acting only for sake of the moment, Stella slowly reached over the consol and took Mac's hand, lacing her fingers with his. She gave him a squeeze and a smile, and then the light changed green.

The strange thing was…they didn't let go of each other for the whole trip.

* * *

He was once again limping into her apartment, now a full day after his first hospital journey. Stella halted and let Mac find his way to a chair, while she looked around and saw a blinking light on her answering machine. 

"I have a message," Stella mumbled to herself, walking over and pressing the PLAY button. The message began to engage.

"Hey, Stella, it's Aiden. Flack and I are heading over to Cunningham's place to instigate the search warrant. It's in Brooklyn; 2308 West 67th Street. It's by a baseball field and a place called the Danish Athletic Club, if you need some landmarks. Meet us there." There was a long pause, and then: "Tell Mac we all miss him and hope he gets better soon." _Click._

"You hear that, Mac?" Stella called out.

"Uh-huh," Mac replied.

"Nice to know the guys are still thinking about you," Stella said. She adjusted the strap on her purse. "I've got to go. Take of yourself, alright?"

"Sure. See you later, Stel."

* * *

"Damn it, what was up with that construction on the Brooklyn Bridge?" Stella sounded a bit peeved. 

"No clue," Aiden replied, directing Stella into the apartment, "Did you have to take the Verrazano-Narrows off Staten Island?"

"Yeah. The view was nice, though."

Aiden nodded. "Fort Wadsworth. I totally agree."

The women reached a flight of stairs and ascended it. At the top, they made a left into the living room.

"Okay, we're going to run over this place with a fine-toothed comb. I'll take the office, the bedroom, and the bathroom. You get everything else."

Torches in hand and donning latex gloves, Stella and Aiden took to their rooms and got to work.

Within fifteen minutes, Aiden struck gold. Buried in the drawer of a mahogany desk in the living room was an article referring to a case Stella and Mac had worked months ago – the shooting of a mounted police officer in Central Park. It mentioned Mac numerous times, and Aiden didn't have to think twice as to why Cunningham had it.

Now thinking she was hot on the trail of some good evidence, Aiden searched through the rest of the desk, but found nothing else of relevance to the case. She moved to the phone, complete with caller ID, and flipped through the contacts. The same two numbers continued to appear, which Aiden knew there was definitely something wrong with.

Aiden called Stella into the living room. "There are only two numbers on his caller ID, dating back to over a month ago," Aiden said, "and I also found this article on the Officer Blue case a while back."

Stella raised her eyebrows. "Well, we already know he's involved. We just haven't found any evidence that will tell us who _else_ is involved."

Aiden cocked her head. They went silent for a moment. "Phone records," she finally said, shrugging.

Stella nodded. "Can you get back to the lab and pull them up?"

"Oh, come on, Stella, I drove out of my way to only be here, like, half an hour?"

"Aiden, I'm the lead on this case." Stella handed her an occupied evidence bag. "I found this under a loose floorboard in the Doc's bedroom. It's a drug for sure, but this guy's a doctor – it could be anything. Take it back to the lab, send it to Trace, and then pull up Cunningham's phone records."

Aiden pursed her puffy lips in mild agitation and turned on her heel heading towards the door. Stella put on a rather self-satisfied expression and continued to search though the apartment.

* * *

An hour later, Stella let out an exasperated groan and slammed her flashlight down on a table, receiving startled looks from the nearby officers. She had gone thorough every room, every drawer, every crevice and had found nothing more than what she had given to Aiden. 

_Why did I send her back to the lab? _

Stella recalled Flack's words when they had talked earlier. Though Flack was going door-to-door and questioning neighbors about Cunningham, she could practically feel him standing over her shoulder and mocking her for taking so long to listen to him. She waved the image away quickly.

Stella groaned again and peered around. Bathroom: check. Bedroom: check. Kitchen: check. Office: check. Living room…

_Wait. The office. How could I have overlooked that? _

Stella revisited the office, and mentally smacking herself in the head, sat down in front of Cunningham's computer, a brand new Windows XP Home Edition. It was already powered on as well as connected to the Internet. Stella decided to snoop around in his e-mail filing cabinet.

She found a great variation of mail saved on AOL: a healthy dose of spam, subscription notifications, updates from the hospital…but the mail that interested her most was the mail from one sender. There was more of it there than anything else. Stella began with the oldest and read every one.

The first few were of no interest to her, but when she opened the fourth message, things turned in a whole different direction. It said:

"_He's pissing me off again. That Taylor has got to go. How can you help?" _

Stella's blood boiled, but she went on, opening another one.

"_Now that sounds like an excellent idea. I'll make JP tell me his weaknesses, which I'm _sure_ are many. I'll get back to you." _

Scanning through all the e-mails at record pace, Stella's eyes searched for a name, a phone number, anything that would lead to the identity of this mysterious contact. She came up empty-handed.

Clicking on another message, dated about five days before Mac's assault, Stella read through it. Then, she froze after reading the last few sentences.

"_His weakness is Stella Bonasera, huh? I know her. She may be of use if anything should go wrong."_

Eyes widening, Stella fumbled for her cellphone and dialed Aiden. When the distinct Brooklyn accent picked up, she put it on speaker phone and laid it on the computer counter.

"Stella?"

"Aiden, this is getting serious."

"Damn right! You first – what else did you find?"

"I'm on Cunningham's computer as we speak. His last twenty-one e-mails are to only one address."

"Does the address give away any identity?"

"Possibly. It has the letters "RCM" in it, which could be…initials, and "266", which could be…anything, really. They've been contacting each other for weeks, and guess what?"

"Do I want to know?"

"Probably. I'm mentioned in one of the messages."

"Damn. This SOB is good."

"Apparently, he knows me."

"Do you know anyone capable of this kind of crime?"

That's just it. I don't. Now, what do you have?"

"Something freaky. I tried to reach Cunningham's phone records, but they're locked."

Stella raised an eyebrow. "Locked?"

"Yeah. I need a six-figure password to get in."

"Aiden the only people who are allowed to lock records are NYPD employees!"

"I know, I know – it's freaking the hell out of me, and I'd bet good money that all the other information as to who Cunningham's been contacting is locked away, too." She paused, then resumed with, "Any guesses for the password?"

Stella sighed. "It could be any combination of letters, numbers, and symbols. It would take a miracle for us to crack it."

"A miracle's what we need right now. Start running things by me."

"Let's think first; we need six figures. What would…" Stella trailed off.

"Stella? Hello?"

The pieces came together. "Type in 'Taylor'."

"You think they'd have something so obvious?"

"Just try it, please?"

There was a soft clacking, a beep, and then: "Bingo! Stella, you're a genius."

"Tell me something I don't know. What do you see?"

"Holy crap."

"What? What is it?"

"One name I don't recognize – Douglas Walker? But the other is…is Jane Parsons."

TBC


	4. Desperate Feelings

Disclaimer: I don't own Desperate Housewives. Seriously, I'd be up to my armpits in money.

* * *

"Mac, I'm sorry. Really."

With his face buried in Stella's couch, and with Stella herself sitting next to him, Mac shook his head and exhaled slowly.

Her gaze pivoting from him, Stella blindly reached out and rubbed Mac's back soothingly.

"It's not your fault, okay? How could you have known that Jane was in on it?"

Mac lifted his head, only to drop in into his hands. "I feel…damn it, Stella, I feel so used."

Stella shifted closer and took Mac into her arms. Their cheeks made contact and his arms slipped out to wrap around her. She whispered in his ear, "Hey – you've got one girl right here who's never going to use you."

Mac lifted his head to meet her eyes. She gave him a warm smile and hoped for one in return. Thankfully, the corners of his mouth upturned slightly as he acknowledged that she was trying to help out.

"You know what you need? A nice picker-upper." She got to her feet.

"Does it come in liquid form?" he asked longingly.

"Not in the momentary sense," she laughed, "but we could arrange something."

"What is it?"

"Food." Stella pivoted and went into her kitchen, adding, "I'll make us some lunch."

"Ah, food. And what is lunch, pray tell?"

"It's sort of this meal you eat at noon or sometime around noon…"

Mac rolled his eyes. Stella laughed. "It's Italian wedding soup. Have you ever tried it?"

"No, and is someone getting married?"

"Oh, smart, handsome, _and_ funny, aren't you?"

There was some question in his mind as to why she had called him handsome. The attitude washed away quickly.

"Anyway, it's really great," Stella continued. "It's basically spinach, meatballs and pearl-shaped pasta. They served it occasionally in my orphanage and, being half Italian, I just couldn't resist."

Had Mac just heard correctly?

"Did you just say you were in an orphanage?" he asked incredulously.

"Sure," Stella replied a bit too brightly. She rummaged around in her pantry. "Is canned soup alright? I don't think I have all the ingredients…"

He grew impatient. "Stella, that's fine, but you never told me…"

"That I was in the system? Ah, I don't spread it around much, but I don't mind telling my closest friends." Stella pulled two cans out of the cabinet and pulled the lids off them. "Truth is that you're the only one I've ever told…well, besides my therapist in college."

As she poured the contents into two separate bowls, Mac commented, "You seem so comfortable with it."

"After so many years, it eventually sinks in and you come to understand it. Though, when I was younger, I could never quite digest why someone out there hated my father enough to kill him."

Somewhere in the bowels of his stomach, Mac felt queasy. What was probably even more unnerving, however, was how casual she was making it sound.

"Anyway, Mac…that was then; this is now." Stella placed the bowls in the microwave, set a time and pressed start. The machine hummed steadily as it cooked the soup.

"I don't know how personal this may be for you, but weren't you ever teased?"

Stella joined him by leaning against the back of an armchair. "Yeah. I didn't have any real friends at school. I was the resident bookworm."

"Sounds familiar," Mac muttered with a smile.

"Exactly. I was the little girl with the frizzy hair who sat in the corner reading up on Greek history and mythology while the other kids went out to recess. But…it didn't bother me. No one tried to hurt me or anything. I was, for lack of a better word, a ghost – except in class, when my shot up to answer every science question." Stella stopped right there and an extended pause settled.

Deep in thought, Mac shifted in his seat and eyed Stella. She was staring at the seat cushion, arms crossed, looking like she was thinking about more than just the smell of cooked spinach and seasoned meatballs emanating from the kitchen. She laid her head on the chair's headrest, and her hair fell in curls over her face – beautifully so, as he dually noted.

"I would have been your friend," he said quietly.

_I would have been a little more than your friend_, he added to himself.

Stella didn't look up, but through the crazy mess of hair, he could almost surely make out a shy smile.

"You sure you'd want to take on the challenge?"

"I think I've known you long enough to know how to handle you."

The microwave beeped, cueing Stella to remove their food. "Oh, Mr. Taylor, there are parts of me you definitely do not know," she cooed seductively.

He raised an eyebrow and was too busy shamelessly ogling her to honestly think about what she just said.

"It's hot," Stella said. "You'd better be careful. Here." Grabbing two spoons and napkins, Stella managed to balance the bowls and bring them to Mac. The soup inside them sloshed in circles, threatening to spill, but Stella's cat-like grace prevented such an event from occurring.

Mac's hands burned when they touched the bowl. Stella curtly remarked on how he should have listened. He narrowed his eyes in mock-irritation and put the bowl on the coffee table before him. Mac pulled his legs in so Stella could take a seat beside him. She mimicked his position, reached for the remote control on the sofa's arm and clicked the television on.

"Is there anything you'd like to watch?" she asked, still fingering the remote.

"It's your apartment. So what you'd like."

"Mac, you're my _guest_."

"Just pick something and stay with it."

She swore a few seconds later she heard him say, "Picky, picky," under his breath and gave him an odd look, then shrugged and started changing channels. "Repeats of the X-Files…some corny Chuck Norris movie…Spike TV; you sure that's not your kind of viewing?"

"No. I'm more of a Formula One Racing kind of guy."

"Oh, now that's unique."

"Stella…"

"Fine, fine." She kept clicking. "Providence…The West Wing…oh, here's something!"

"Desperate Housewives? You seriously watch that?"

"Is there any shame is watching the secrets of the stereotypical housewife?"

"Technically, the only two real 'stereotypical' housewives are Bree and Lynette…"

Stella punched him playfully. "You can't act for your life! You watch it too!"

Mac's guilty-as-charged expression said it all.

"I don't blame you," Stella said. "It's a great show; very funny. We're only two of the many caught up in Housewife Fever."

"We don't have to watch it, you know. It's a repeat."

"It's the pilot episode; I missed this one when it first aired."

Mac and Stella watched as a clean-cut Bree Van De Kamp entered the Young's home on the screen, hair straight and chillingly unmoving, holding two dressed-up baskets and leading her glum-looking family inside.

"Oh, God, she never quits," Stella muttered.

As Bree explained to Mr. Young which basket was for him and Zach and which basket was for the guests, Stella had to battle back a fit of laughter, knowing there was something coming. Finally, Bree said:

"_Of course, I will need the baskets back once you're done." _

"And therein lies the punch line!" Stella exclaimed.

"Wait 'till you see Edie later," Mac said.

Sure enough, about halfway through the episode, Edie Britt was ambling up Mike Delfino's walk, pushing her way past Susan Mayer.

"I suspect some flirting," Stella said, looking at Mac. "Am I on the right track?"

"Shh…listen."

She waited.

"_Mike, you're a plumber, right? Do you think you could come by later and…take a look at my pipes?" _

Both exploded with laughter. When she regained her breath, Stella saw Mac lifting another spoonful of the Italian wedding soup into his mouth. "Do you like it?"

He nodded and swallowed. Stella did the same as Mac, but didn't notice the small piece of spinach caught at the corner of her lips. She turned to Mac, who immediately said, "You have something…" He pointed to the offending leaf.

Stella quickly put her spoon down, but wasn't quick enough because Mac's hand was already there. He brushed the spinach away with his thumb.

Stella stared at him, perplexed by what he had done, as well as the fact that his hand lingered and his fingers were lightly touching her cheek. When he finally pulled his hand away and wiped the spinach on a napkin, Stella looked dazed and touched the spot where his hand was. Her skin tingled. Something had just been ignited within her…

"Stella?"

Stella shook her head and returned to the real world, offering him a small "thanks".

* * *

Lab coat-clad and hair tied into a messy ponytail, Aiden leaned over a layout table with every piece of evidence she had collected from Peter Cunningham's apartment. It was at times like this that Aiden always hoped for some sort of brain blast to hit her so she'd know where to follow up. Not this time. 

After minutes of searching through everything, Aiden cursed, "Damn it!" She kicked one of the table's legs, causing the structure to wobble slightly.

"Hey, hey, don't take it out on the table, girl!" Danny grinned, entering the lab.

"You want me to take it out on you?"

He backed off. "Now that you mention it…"

Aiden chuckled.

"What's got you all riled up?" Danny asked.

"Mac's case," she said, sighing. "I sent the drugs Stella and I found off to Trace. I didn't need to, of course, growing up in that kind of neighborhood and knowing it was coke, but Stella's the boss right now…" She clenched her fists.

"Stella's under a lot of stress, Aiden. She has to run the unit as if Mac were still here and take care of the big man himself. Will you let her off easy?"

Aiden's hand flew to her temples. "When she's stressed, she's bossy, and that's what gets me pissed."

"Well, allow me to ease the pain a little. I did background searches on Jane and Doug Walker. Jane, believe it or not, prior to being employed here was a lab tech at New York Downtown Hospital – the same hospital Cunningham works at."

"Go on…"

"This may not be so cool. I typed in Walker's name and all I got was his previous place of employment, date of birth, et cetera, but nothing probative. I can't get to his address, his phone number – hell, I don't even know where he works now, because those particular files are locked."

"I couldn't open Cunningham's phone records for the same reason."

"Yeah, and I stayed up into the late hours of the night thinking of passwords. No luck, obviously."

Aiden shook her head in disgust. "This bastard's covering his tracks, and he's somewhere in this station, right under our noses."

"Yeah." They went silent as business buzzed on around them. Danny finally spoke, touching her shoulder and saying, "Hey, Budweiser on me after shift?"

"Make it a Corona Light and you've got the right idea."

TBC


End file.
